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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

Seeing I was not getting it, he said, “It’s a hunting vest. I felt bad that I scared ya and worried you wouldn’t want to walk the trail anymore.” You got that right, Mister.

“You should feel bad for shooting at joggers.”

His cheeks burned red under his scruff and he glanced down at his hiking boots.

“I’m joking,” I said, opening the screen and taking the vest. “Partially, at least. And, thanks.” I let the screen fall closed and reached for the door.

“You kept the Conrads’ red curtains.” He nodded to his left, toward our front window. “Kind of hideous, kind of artistic.” I got the feeling Tracy Summers was looking for a friend.

“I guess. My stepson calls it the murder room,” I said, trying to stomp out any inkling he had about coming over for tea or a beer.

“Murder room?” he said, lifting his eyebrows, and shifting his gaze to the side. “It fits.”

“I have to go get my daughter from school.” I started to close the door. “Thanks again.”

“Hey, there’s something else. Do you happen to have a sister?”

I squeezed the doorknob to steady myself. “What?” I said, though it was obvious I’d heard him.

“I went to the hospital a month back for stitches. I, uh, cut my finger pretty deep. Anyway, I was talking to the nurse sewing me up. I made the porn star name joke. It’s my go-to joke. My door breaker.”

“Ice breaker.”

“Yep. That’s it. Ice breaker. She made the same joke about her last name. Same as you today. Déjà vu. Anyway, her name stood out because it reminded me of Christmas.”

Sweat broke across my chest and forehead.

“Holly Hornne,” he said. “I didn’t think of it till after I saw you. I had a mini stroke a few years back and sometimes I’m not as sharp as I used to be.” He tapped his forehead with his pointer finger. “Anyway, that your sister?”

“No. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m gonna be late.” I closed the door.

Fuck. When had Holly moved back here?

27

27

Whenever I thought of Holly, I thought of Roxy. She was the Barbie doll I got for Easter back when we lived in Hunther. Before Becky died.

I had loved Roxy. I liked brushing her sandy blond hair and taking off her dress and giving her a bath when I took a bath and tucking her in my bed at night. When my love for Roxy was still fresh, I’d eavesdropped on a doll-centric horror movie Rodney was watching. That ruined Roxy for me. I put her in the back of the closet in the room I shared with Holly and Becky.